Reunion
by Tibbins
Summary: Rated for violence and disturbing themes, particularly in the first chapter. A continuation from 13x04, can be read as a companion piece to 'Empty Bottles' but works just as well as a stand-alone. Destiel.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys, so here is a (possible) companion piece to the fic I posted last week, Empty Bottles. I say it's a companion even though there aren't really any explicit references, because a couple of the same themes crop up. Expect spoilers for season 13 so far (up to and including 13x04)**

 **Enjoy ^_^**

Dean sat in the war room, headphones on, beer in hand. He had refused the case that Sam pitched to him. Sounded like a standard werewolf. It was still a couple of weeks to the full moon, but Sam had taken the kid this morning and packed up, saying something about 'bonding time'. Dean didn't mind. He quite liked having the bunker to himself. He no longer had to tolerate Sam busting into his room every three hours to check up on him, trying to talk about his feelings. Things had been a little less tense between them the past few days.

"Therapy, who knew?" he grunted in amusement to himself. Maybe there was something to it after all. He had tried to stop lashing out so much. It wasn't Sam's fault that every moment Dean was awake felt like the first thirty years of his time in Hell in slow motion. Each day he fell apart, piece by painful piece, and when there was nothing more left, he hammered himself back together with beer and music, only for the process to begin all over again the next day.

There was a slightly different tension between him and his brother now though. Whether Sam was aware of it or not, Dean wasn't sure, or if he was, he didn't know the cause. The way he had exploded about Mary, saying that Dean, _Dean_ had had more of a relationship with her than he had. While he understood that that was how Sam felt, Dean felt guilty that it hadn't felt that way for him at all. Sam had always been dad's favourite son, why not Mary's too? There had been so many arguments, so much resentment between them. Dean and Mary had riled each other up, pushed each other away, Sam had been the calming presence between them, the cement that kept them together. Sam's interactions with Mary had been calmer, full of the love that Dean had once shown the memories of his mom. Dean didn't resent his little brother that. But it hurt him that he hadn't seen it for what it was.

But it wasn't Mary that kept Dean drinking until the early hours. He had buried his mother long ago, and although he missed her, it wasn't with the same intensity as it had been.

Maybe that wound was finally healing.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and seriously considered calling Mia. Maybe having someone to talk to could help. Or if it didn't, it might help him to learn how to hide it better. He knew Sam was concerned about him, Sam was _always_ concerned about him, so being able to help with that worry would be one less thing for him to feel guilty about. Or maybe he could ask her to do that shifting thing, so he could say goodbye.

 _I've already_ said _goodbye_ , he argued with himself. At the funeral he had voiced his final farewell. It didn't get more closed case than that.

" _What gets burned stays dead."_

Dean closed his eyes and rubbed at them with the palms of his hands. When he opened them again, Castiel stood before him.

Dean scrambled to his feet in shock, almost falling out of his chair. He yanked his headphones from his head and tossed them aside, hand reaching automatically for the gun under the table before it fell from his suddenly leaden fingers.

The angel cocked his head, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Hello, Dean." He said, his voice like crunching gravel underfoot. Like the well-worn path that led to the bunker.

After a few, squeezing heartbeats, Dean's brain caught up with him.

"You're not really here, are you?"

Cas just smiled wider, showing those bright teeth. His eyes shining with joy.

"I'm here," he said, "I came back for you."

Dean slowly stepped around the table, and hesitantly, reached for the edge of Cas' sleeve. His fingers passed through the material. He tried again, stomach plummeting, hurrying to grab Castiel's arm, but again, his hand passed straight through.

"I knew it," he said, one of his hands gripping the edge of the table, his legs suddenly unable to support him properly. "I freaking knew it."

But if he had known, why did the truth hurt so much?

When he looked up, Castiel was gone.

The next day, Castiel appeared to him once again. He started at the image but otherwise didn't react, determined to ignore it until it vanished again. But it was still there when he opened his eyes. It looked sadder this time, a crease between the eyes, mouth straight and serious. Dean's chest tightened at the sight.

"I missed you." It said.

Dean didn't reply. He walked straight through the image of the angel, as he did so he could almost feel it, a coldness, a pain as deep and all-consuming as a black hole.

"I appreciate you giving me a Hunter's funeral." Castiel said, as it followed him back to his room, walking through the door when Dean tried to slam it in the thing's face, "Though I wish you hadn't."

Dean continued to ignore him, searching for an EMF meter and turning it on, just in case. Only silence greeted him. He could still see the silhouette in his periphery vision, it appeared to sit on the end of his bed when Dean flung himself down. Once he had nothing else to occupy him, he kept glancing at those eyes. There was something in them that was just too familiar.

"I felt it, you know." Castiel said when their eyes had met once more, "I didn't think I would, but maybe death works differently with angels. I did get … attached to this vessel after all." He smiled sadly and pulled at his coat. "Burning _hurts_ , Dean. Did you know that? When your blood literally boils and your skin bubbles like wax before it bursts and turns into charcoal. I was screaming but I don't think you could hear me."

"Stop." Dean finally said. Hating how that word sounded coming out of his mouth. It wasn't angry and authoritative. It was small, pleading.

"I apologise. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known how much it would hurt. You always have the best of intentions, my friend, no matter the outcome." Castiel smiled at him. It was a small smile but it spoke volumes.

"It's terrible, but burning like that did remind me of where we first met. Not that you remember that. You never did remember me coming for you."

Dean just stared. He didn't know what to say, or even if he _should_ say something. Just because Cas wasn't an ordinary ghost didn't necessarily mean anything. Cas was an _angel_. Maybe angel ghosts had different rules. He reached for his bedside drawer and pulled out a solid iron ring. He through it through the image of Castiel. Nothing happened, the image didn't even flicker. He grabbed a handful of salt and threw that too. Again, nothing. Castiel raised an eyebrow.

"That's rather impolite, you know?"

"Well excuse me my horrible table manners." Dean said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. The sound seemed to perk the vision up.

"So what are you?" Dean asked, "not any ghost that I know of, not a shifter, not a demon, not the freaking tooth fairy."

"I'm an Angel of the Lord." Castiel said with another, easy smile that made Dean's stomach flip uncomfortably, "I thought you knew that already. I could have sworn I'd mentioned it, once or twice."

"What do you want?"

The thing considered, cocking his head. "I want to Hunt, with you and Sam. I want to help you keep Jack safe. I want to help people and have important discussions and enjoy sunshine and save the world. I want to _live_ , Dean."

Dean's jaw clenched. This thing, it sounded exactly like Cas. _Exactly_. A new kind of ghost was looking more and more likely, before years of resentment twisted it into something unrecognisable. Maybe Cas' soul, or his grace, or whatever, maybe he just needed to move on.

"I can't make that happen," he said, "I'm sorry."

"Of course," Castiel said, "I've always asked too much of you."

"It's not a matter of 'asking too much'," Dean said, gently. "I just wouldn't know how to start. Bringing things back isn't as easy as it used to be, what with God gone AWOL. I tried praying to Him, you know." The last part came out almost as a plea, an apology.

"I know. I heard you." The look on his face was so sad, he reached out a hand as if to touch Dean's knee but then pulled back at the last second. "You've lost so much."

"No more than you."

"I am not so broken by it. Besides, I still have you."

Dean felt the corner of his mouth twitch unbidden. Then, he stood up from the bed once more and went to the door, this time holding it open for what he decided was an unresentful ghost, which smiled at him as he walked past, then paused in the hallway, waiting for Dean.

"We might not find anything, you know that, right? And if that happens, you might have to help me find whatever it is you're attached to. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Okay, well, good." Dean cleared his throat. Trying not to show how much that possibility was already tearing at him. Cas had never had much in the way of 'things', so anything he kept must have been precious to him. Destroying something like that… Well, it wouldn't feel good.

"Let's go do Sammy's favourite thing," Dean said, starting off in the direction of the library.

"Lecturing you?"

Dean laughed, he couldn't help it. It was short lived and too loud, but he couldn't remember the last time his laugh hadn't been forced.

"Okay, second favourite thing. Research."

Several hours later found Dean sitting in the library, surrounded by piles of books on angel lore and ghosts. He'd decided to start with the basics. There was no point looking up unusual resurrections if they wouldn't work on an angel, especially as those kinds of restoring to life usually came with big, bad consequences. But if he could find something that mentioned where angels went, how they held on, maybe that connection could be used to pull Cas back.

Castiel was currently nowhere to be found. He suspected that he'd reappear soon enough. He didn't like to think how much he was hoping for it. There was a constant gnawing in his gut but it was preferable to how he had been feeling since that night at the cabin. He felt better, more productive, now that he had something _useful_ to focus on. A case was all well and good, but it didn't help the people he'd lost. It didn't help Cas.

Castiel appeared once more, in the middle of the table, the ghost looked disgruntled at this and Dean couldn't help but smirk as he arranged himself into (or onto) the chair opposite.

"Find anything?"

"Nothing I didn't already know; warriors of God, garrisons, major dicks, yada, yada." Castiel frowned at him, but the expression softened almost immediately.

Dean played with his shirt sleeve and tried to read, but the presence opposite him was so distracting that after reading the same sentence four times without taking in a word he decided to take a break, and leaned back in his chair. The ghost watched him patiently, with those endless eyes.

"So, uh, Cas," Dean began, still playing with his shirt and quickly looking away from the ghost. "How long have you been… around?"

"In and out since my funeral." He replied. "I can't seem to stay more than an hour or so at a time, I have very little control over my appearances."

"So, when you're not here, where do you go?"

The ghost seemed to shift uncomfortably at the question.

"It's not a very nice place."

"Like Hell?" Dean's heart constricted at the thought of Cas trapped in that place.

"Not quite so… obvious. More like, the anti-Heaven."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Well," Castiel said, slowly. "You know how Heaven is an amalgamation of all of your favourite memories? Every time you've ever experienced true joy, every happy moment of your life?"

"Yeah."

"Where I go is the opposite. It's re-living every mistake I've ever made, every time I've failed, every screw up, every time I've felt grief or pain." He shuddered. "I've lived a long time, Dean. I've made many mistakes, even before I met you. But most of those memories are recent. Probably because they hurt the most."

Dean stared at the ghost in horror.

"No. You shouldn't be there. Chuck wouldn't let you. You've done too much good."

Castiel smiled sadly at him, "God is gone, Dean. He left with Amara. Until he comes back, he has no power there. I suspect the other angels have had something to do with it. A punishment for all that I've done against them."

"For all that you've done for us, you mean?" Dean said, bitterly.

"I have no regrets."

Dean met the ghost's eyes once more, they were clear and honest and that hurt just as much as knowing the full extent of what that meant.

"None?"

Castiel considered. "Well, maybe that's not exactly true. I regret trying to be God that one time, and there are other moments when I could have done things better. Acted sooner, that kind of thing. But overall, I don't regret my time with you." This time the smile wasn't sad, it was fond.

Dean coughed and looked away.

"Well, I'm glad." He said, then, after a moment of comfortable silence, Dean asked, "so, why haven't you shown up before? If you've been in and out, how come I haven't seen you before today?"

"I'm not really sure," Castiel said, cocking his head to the side, frowning, "Like I said, I haven't had much control."

"So it's not the bunker you're drawn to?"

"I don't know. I seem to show up here most often. Though I have appeared on the road a few times."

"And where were you when you heard me praying?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.

"I always hear you when you pray, Dean. It doesn't matter where I am."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. The feeling within him was so strong, he wasn't sure what it was exactly; grief, pain and sadness sure, but it wasn't all bad. There was a bittersweet longing there too, it dredged up old memories, happier times. Team Free Will against the world.

Castiel was gone when he opened his eyes. Back to that place of torture. Dean launched a book on vengeful spirits across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thud and landed on it's side, pages creasing. Sam would have had a heart attack. It didn't make him feel much better. Dean retrieved a beer from his room before settling down again and went back to reading about angel lore. He was deliberately trying to squash down the hope that threatened to flare in his chest. This ghost had to be Cas, it _had_ to be. It knew too much, every mannerism and speech inflection was exactly as he remembered. He debated calling Sam, telling him what was going on, but his would only insist on coming home immediately and Dean couldn't deal with all of the questions. Besides, maybe it would all be over before they even got back. Sam had said they might be gone for more than a week, it often took a full moon to find a werewolf, especially if leads were thin on the ground. Also, Cas was _his_ responsibility. He was the one who had called him to the forefront when he has been possessed by Lucifer, he was the one who had insisted they try and pull him back when he'd gone on his God bender, and he had been the one to deal with his body. It was an unspoken agreement between the brothers that it was Dean who got the final say when it came to Cas.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing aside the book and adding it to the already considerable 'useless' pile. Perhaps instead of looking up angel lore, he could try something more specific, like afterlives. There was bound to be less of that to go through. Purgatory for monsters, Heaven or Hell for people and something else for demons and angels. Which presumably was also split into good and bad areas. This 'something else' could be the answer. If he could figure out where it was, he might be able to find a way to get there. Specifically to where Cas was.

He kept reading late into the night. He even scoured the internet for any kind of mention of an angel afterlife. It was only when his eyes began to droop and Castiel had appeared once more to urge him to sleep did Dean admit defeat for the day.

For the first time since lighting Cas' pyre, he slept without dreaming.

When he woke, Dean felt more relaxed and well-rested than he had in a long time. There was something about the silence of the bunker, nothing but the hum of the generator and the sound of his own breathing.

"Good morning, Dean."

Dean jolted into full awareness, his head snapping up to see Castiel perching on the end of his bed. He turned to face him at the movement.

"Cas, how long have you been there?"

"Consistently throughout the night. I know you don't like it when I watch over you but you seemed to sleep better."

"Could'a given a guy a little warning is all." Dean grumbled.

Castiel's eyes crinkled with amusement,

"I have no doubt that no matter how I had announced my presence, you would have reacted the same way, You always assume danger, but I am sorry for startling you."

Dean sat up in the bed, reluctant to leave the warmth of the covers, he drew his knees up and rested his arms on them, staring at the ghost.

"You haven't watched over me in a long time, Cas."

"You'd be surprised," he said, eyes twinkling.

Dean raised an eyebrow,

"Seriously? I am so warding this room."

Castiel just smiled at him, the threat was empty, they both knew it.

"I miss feeling like an angel sometimes," the ghost confessed, "The past few years, even after getting my grace back, I've felt more human than angel." Looking at Dean's face, he backtracked, "it's not a bad thing necessarily, emotions are important to me. But sometimes, when I want to feel like a protector, I will watch while you sleep."

"You _are_ a protector, Cas. That's what Hunting is, that's what we do. We protect people."

"But no one protects you. That was supposed to be my role. I am the Winchesters' guardian, Dean. First and foremost."

"You did your best."

"Yes," the ghost said, nodding slightly, "but it wasn't always enough."

"Neither was I."

They were silent for a moment, then Dean excused himself to shower. Castiel was gone again when he came back.

The next several days went by quickly. Dean crammed as much research as he could in between 'visitings'. They talked and held companionable silence and it was so much like Cas was already back that Dean could almost believe it. If it wasn't for the whole, incorporeal thing.

Slowly though, Dean began to notice a change in the ghost. Each time he re-appeared, he seemed a little more strained, a little more desperate. After days of popping in and out, he had a haggard look in his eyes, tinged with fear. Dean threw himself even more vigorously into the work. He had to find something, he couldn't bear to watch his friend keep returning to that place, not knowing if he would be able to find the strength to come back. But after a full week of cross referencing and reading and re-reading and scanning the internet, he was still no closer to figuring out a way to pull Cas back.

Dean had received a text from Sam the night before, they too were struggling. They had three victims and no leads, they were preparing to set a trap for the full moon, but in the meantime, they had resorted to testing as many people as possible with silver.

The next time Castiel shuddered into existence he was bent double, his hair a mess, panting heavily.

"Cas?" Dean was in front of him in a heartbeat, and had reached his hand through the ghost's shoulder before he remembered, "what happened?"

The ghost looked up at him with pain filled eyes. Dean almost recoiled at the look, he'd never seen so much hopelessness on the angel's face.

"Dean, it's getting harder to pull away. I don't know how much longer I-" he let out a small gasp that twisted Dean's heart. Dean longed to reach for him again, to grab onto his coat and pull him into a hug, to hold him and never let him go back to that place. All he could do was kneel in front of the small figure, helpless, useless.

"I think I can help." Castiel continued, "There's a voice, it explains my failures, tells me things, horrible things. But it said that where I am is 'stuck'. It's not the true afterlife. It's not where I should be."

Dean just shook his head, although he had been watching the toll that these constant trips were taking on him, it had been a slow process that he had expected more time, he had _hoped_ for more time.

"I can't find anything, Cas. I've tried, I've looked in every book that even mentions angels or afterlives or even ghosts but there's just. . . nothing. I'm sorry. I, I don't think I can save you." Dean heard his voice crack at the admission.

Castiel met his eyes and reached one hand to rest on Dean's cheek. He could almost feel it, the warmth, the power that always lingered just beneath the surface, it was like the memory of a sensation. He had been so close to getting this back, to getting _Cas_ back. That one, almost-touch shattered him. He felt a hot tear fall, dripping through the hand that cupped his face.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered again.

"No," the ghost said, softly. "Dean, it's not your fault. It was always going to be this way, I'm sorry I let you think otherwise, but I didn't want to admit it, myself. I wanted to come back, to you."

"I wanted that too," Dean said quietly, "more than anything."

"I know."

They stayed like that for a time, until Castiel shuddered once more and Dean pulled away, concerned. He wiped his face and stood, pulling himself together, waiting for the ghost to do the same. It looked like a struggle.

"Right, so let's find your totem. Do you know what it is?"

Castiel shook his head. Dean nodded in acknowledgement and strode off, stopping outside Cas' room. He paused there a moment before shaking himself and pushing open the door. He hadn't been in here since they'd gotten back from the cabin. Dean had made it clear that Jack was not to go near it. The bed was neatly made, though there were slight wrinkles on the sheets where the angel had sat or lain on top of them. The desk was almost bare, one drawer half-open, as though Cas had only just left to look for a pen or something. It took Dean a few breaths before he could step inside. Then, steeling himself, he yanked out all the drawers and emptied them onto the bed. If he salted and burned everything, surely that would work. He doubted very much that Cas had been particularly attached to that eraser shaped like a bee, or that empty gum wrapper (he'd never even seen Cas chew gum) but better safe than sorry.

The books went next, Dean cleared the bookshelves with a few sweeps of his arm, dumping them all onto the pile on the bed. There was a picture frame on top of one of the bookshelves; Cas and Claire, Claire was smiling, Cas was halfway through a blink. Dean smiled down at the simple wooden frame for a moment before chucking it too onto the bed. Things like that were more likely to be totems. He left the cluttered desk until last, after everything else had joined the pile. The menu of his favourite burger bar from his time as a human, the small mirror that hung on the wall, a Bible which Dean flipped through, it was covered with notes and annotations, certain paragraphs were circled, some pages crossed out. Looked like he was trying to make it more historically accurate. Dean almost rolled his eyes before throwing that particular item onto the pile. The only other things were a lamp, which had come with the room, but Dean yanked the cord from its socket anyway, and a tape deck. Dean swallowed hard before ripping that plug from the wall too and throwing the whole thing onto the bed with a crash, smashing the mirror underneath it.

Dean turned to survey the pile and noticed that the tape deck had opened and the cassette inside had fallen out. Dean almost ignored it, gathered up the bedding, pile and all, and marched outside to put things right. Instead, almost against his will, he sat on the very corner of the bed and picked up the tape. It was labelled 'Dean's top 13 Zep Traxx'.

He stared at the little plastic rectangle, memories threatening to swallow him. This tape had been an apology, a gift, an acceptance. He had spent hours recording his favourite Led Zeppelin songs. He'd made 2 attempts, the first one had skipped some bars and had dissolved into static, but this one had come out right.

"Dean."

The voice came from the doorway. Castiel stood there, watching him, he must have been there the whole time, or he had returned to that place briefly once more.

"That tape means a lot to me." The ghost said, carefully avoiding the shards of mirror on the carpet, probably out of habit than fear of any actual damage. "But I don't think it's the thing keeping me here."

"Would you feel it if it were?"

Castiel shrugged and looked away, for the first time looking shifty.

"What?" Dean asked, the ghost just shook it's head.

"It's nothing."

"I know you too well Cas, you can't pull that crap on me," he hesitated, "is it that place? Is it getting worse?"

"It couldn't get worse if it tried." Castiel said, attempting a joke, but the humour in the statement was punctured by the reality. "But it is, strong, and I want to stay here as long as I can."

Dean felt a lump in his throat. "Then what's wrong? That you won't know your get out of jail free card when you see it?"

Castiel smiled wryly, "you could use one of those, you know. You and Sam. You do seem to get arrested quite a lot."

"Cas-"

"It's nothing, Dean." His voice was firm.

"Look," Dean said, standing and placing the cassette tape back on the pile. He started folding the corners of the duvet together to make a sack. "If we salt and burn everything you own, one of the things in here has to be it. You didn't own anything else, right? Your coat is already dust."

Castiel looked down at his coat, sadly. But there was still something wrong. Something so significant that Dean tied off the makeshift sack and fully faced the ghost.

"The totem isn't in this pile is it?"

Castiel hesitated, then shook his head.

"You know what it is, don't you?"

The ghost nodded.

"Tell me."

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

Castiel's silence spoke volumes. Dean ran a hand through his hair,

"Dammit, Cas, I thought this was what you wanted! I thought this was your only way to move on!"

"It is." His voice was so small that Dean barely heard the words. Castiel looked so scared, so broken. Like he was caught in the biggest dilemma of his life, or his death.

"Cas, come on, man. Let me help you."

"Not this time, Dean."

Dean was perplexed. He didn't understand.

"You're not going back to that place," he insisted, striding to within a few inches of the ghost. "I'm not gonna let that happen. You think I can just go back to normal _knowing_ where you are and what you're going through? No way. That's not happening. You tell me. Right now."

Castiel finally looked up to meet his eyes. Those eyes, they were full of so much fear, and finally, defeat.

"You," he said, looking away again. "It's you."

"Me?" Dean backed away a half-step. "How is that possible? Ghosts connect to objects, not people."

There was so much empathy in those blue eyes that it hurt to look at them, he did anyway.

"I laid a claim on your soul a long time ago, Dean. The handprint on your shoulder might be gone but that bond is not. Even if it were, we've since forged something just as strong. If there was anything, _anything_ to ever call me back, to keep me here. It would be you." There was an intensity in his face now, a determination.

"Which is why you have to let me go. If you dying is the only thing that will get me out of that place, let me stay there, let me rot. I won't be responsible for your death. Don't ask me to let you do this."

Dean stepped forward again and reached out to touch under his chin, the ghost took the hint and raised his face.

"Cas, I'm only a human. I've got, maybe forty years left, if I went into retirement right now and ate rabbit food and stopped drinking beer. If I let you go, you'll be in that place for _eternity_. Forever. Do you understand? What's forty years compared to forever of _that_? So I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. I'm gonna call Sam. And then I'm gonna save you."

"You can't, please."

"It's the right thing to do. You'd do the same for me, you know you would. You're _family_ , Cas, hell, you're _more_ than my family. Do you hear me?"

Castiel nodded, the motion shaking loose a few tears that vanished as soon as they fell beyond his chin.

"Give me a few minutes to talk to Sammy, okay? I'll be right back." Without waiting for a response, Dean left, shutting himself into his own room. There was steel in his gut, a righteous fire that told him he was doing the right thing. He pulled out his phone and dialled Sam's number. It went to voicemail.

"Hiya Sammy," he began, guilt immediately settling on his shoulders, "look, I wish you'd picked up. I wanted to talk to you properly. I've got a lot to say and not much time. Cas is back. But he's not… he's a ghost. And he's stuck in some hellish limbo. I can't let him stay like that, Sammy. He doesn't deserve that, not after everything. I can't, I can't pull him back. I tried to find a way but there just wasn't anything so instead I'm gonna help him move on. You understand that, right? Well, I'm the thing he's holding on to. So, I have to help him. I have to."

He pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment to take a shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry that I'm telling you this over the phone, but there's no time. I'll be gone by the time you get back. I know this is gonna hurt you and I'm, I'm so sorry. But you'll be okay. I know you will because you've got the kid. He's gonna need you, like I did. I love you, little brother. Okay. Goodbye."

He disconnected the call and held the phone to his forehead. Eventually he dropped it and nodded to himself, wiping away the tears. Once more, that solid determination got him moving. He grabbed the salt, left the bunker and began gathering sticks. Castiel stood, watching him, expressionless.

When the pyre was finished, he doused it in gasoline and climbed on top of it. The ghost walked towards him, looking pained.

"This is your last chance to turn back. Please, think what Sam would say."

"He'd understand." Dean said. Swinging his legs so that he was lying down. He pulled out his lighter. And then his knife. He didn't really want to feel the burning if he could help it. He shook the salt over himself and chucked the bottle away. Then he turned his head to look at Castiel.

"I know you don't want me to do this. Forgive me anyway."

The ghost nodded. "Of course." Then, Castiel walked into the pyre and placed one hand on Dean's cheek, the other over the hand clutching the lighter, "I wish I could feel this."

Dean's lips twitched, "me too."

"You taught me so much. Thank you."

Dean nodded. Then, without wasting time to think, he raised the knife and plunged it deep into his own chest. Then, before his brain caught up with what he'd done, he flicked the lighter and let it fall where the flames quickly caught on the gasoline soaked wood. Castiel was still there, looked as solid as he ever had, holding his hand the only way he could. Dean choked on blood, he coughed, the pain finally reaching him, bloody spittle dribbling from his mouth. Then Castiel's face contorted, breaking out into a maniacal grin, he threw his head back and screamed his laughter, although Dean couldn't hear it over the roar of the flames, or the ringing in his ears. Black spots appeared before his eyes, blotting out the door of the bunker, Castiel, everything except the fire, which had caught up to him now, he fumbled for his knife again, he didn't want to burn, but he didn't have the strength to raise it. He would burn, he would burn for Cas. He screamed as the flames licked greedily at him, he looked for Castiel but the ghost was gone, he heard other screams, screams that weren't his, his name, he heard his name, he could feel his skin blistering, suddenly there was nothing but red pain, he felt the fire around him, inside of him, why hadn't he used his gun? His eyes went dark but he could still feel the fire, he felt his heart pumping sluggishly, surely it wouldn't be long now. He knew he'd hit the aorta. Blood and pain and fire.

Dean Winchester burned.

 **So there you have it. This fic WILL have a 2nd chapter. I'm working on it right now and should have it up by the end of the day but I'm evil so I thought I'd leave you here for now.**

 **All comments and feedback are welcome and appreciated. I always love to hear what you guys think and even any problems you have all help me to improve so don't be shy if you have something to say :)**

 **Love you all, I'll post more soon.**

 **Love Tibbins xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is the second chapter as promised, I hope you like it.**

 **This one is a lot ... fluffier than chapter 1.**

 **Enjoy ^_^**

Dean's eyes flickered open, the light was blinding, he closed them again, embracing the darkness. He felt a hand on his own, another on his cheek. Pain everywhere else. He heard a familiar rumble but couldn't quite make it out.

He fell back into blissful unconsciousness.

The next time he woke, he managed to focus his eyes. It took him several attempts but soon found himself staring at a blurry ceiling. He still burned, he groaned and his voice was raspy; suddenly, the hands were back, he caught a glimpse of blue, and then nothing.

The third time, opening his eyes was easier. His chest ached and the flames still hadn't truly left him, but he felt stronger. He was in his room, he noticed immediately; he recognised that flake of peeling plaster, it irritated him every time he looked at it. The covers were smoothed out on top of him, only one of his arms was free. That was unusual, he normally moved around a lot when he slept. The next thing he noticed was a weight on the bed that wasn't his own. He managed to move his head with considerable effort and was greeted with a shock of dark hair and those bottomless blue eyes.

"Hello, Dean." Cas said, softly.

"Cas?" Dean said, his brain immediately beginning to hurt, "am I… dead?"

The angel frowned, clearly supressing anger. "I should hope not, or I'll have wasted three days healing you. Three _days_ , Dean! Do you know how much damage you have to do to yourself for it to lake longer than an instant? What the hell were you thinking?"

"Heal me? How? Why? Why would you do that?"

Pain lanced through Cas' features at that, so much so that Dean almost regretted the words.

"Because I'm your friend, you moron," he finally said, turning his whole body to face the Hunter, an intensity in his expression, "and in the future, if something tries to get you to kill yourself, even me - _especially_ me - if you even consider the possibility, I will find you wherever you go and _beat your stupid ass_. You got it?"

"I don't understand."

"Obviously." The angel sighed and raised a hand to cover his eyes for a moment. When he lowered it, some of the anger was gone, replaced with something more tender.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, pained, "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you. I only had to die and I couldn't even do that right to stop you going back. You shouldn't have healed me."

A sharp crack and Dean's head snapped to the side, ears ringing. When he cracked his jaw and turned back, Cas was on his feet, eyes blazing, hands clenched in fists at his sides. Dean was amazed to see a tear glistening on his cheek.

"Don't you dare say that!" He shouted, tears falling more rapidly now, "you thought that was me? You thought I would _ever_ allow you to even think about doing something like that? That I would just stand by and watch you _burn_? Don't you know me at all?"

"Cas, what-?"

"It was a _siren_ , Dean. You got played by a siren." Cas sat back down heavily. Head in hands.

They were quiet for a time, while Dean processed this information. He felt as though he had just been doused in icy water. A siren?

"But... that makes no sense. Why would a siren appear to me like that? Aren't they supposed to show you what you want?"

"I have no idea, you'll have to ask it." Cas said into his hands.

"It? It's still here?"

Cas raised his head again but wouldn't look at him. "I tied it up in the dungeon. I've been too busy here to interrogate it. You needed me more."

"But... it was a ghost. I couldn't touch it."

A confused sideways glance from Cas.

"Not anymore. It even got burned itself, from your _funeral pyre_ ," he spat the last two words.

"But if that wasn't you, then where were you? You can't be real either. You're dead. You're dead and you're gone and we burned your body. If, by some… miracle, you _were_ back. You'd probably be in a new vessel, right?"

"I was dead." Cas conceded. "I woke up in the Empty. I still don't know how. As for how I got back…" Cas glanced at Dean again and smiled, "I guess you could say I did you proud."

"You always do." The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back. Cas' smile widened.

"And I apparently got a new coat," he said, glancing down.

Dean reached forward, ignoring his pounding head and took the edge of the sleeve between his fingers. The fabric was coarse but not unpleasant, and it had a silken lining. Cas watched the Hunter's fingers as they gripped tighter on the cloth, then around his wrist.

"Did my slap not convince you that I was solid?" He said, softly.

Dean didn't answer, he just squeezed his eyes shut and held onto the angel's wrist. Cas brought his other hand to rest on top. It was warm and thrummed with a grace that was just so uniquely _Cas_.

"I'm real," Cas said, "I'm here."

After a few minutes spent in silence, Dean finally realised something,

"Where's Sam?"

Cas had clearly been expecting the question. "I called him, explained what I could. I'm not sure he believed me after that message you left. I think he's still driving back, they had just been about to catch the werewolf when you called and didn't get the message until afterwards. You were in a bad way, I kind of stopped listening," he shrugged guiltily, "I expect he's breaking all the rules of the road to get here as fast as he can."

"That's my boy." Dean tried to laugh but grimaced as his chest flared with pain. Cas reached out a hand immediately and the stabbing sensation lessened to an ache. Cas shook his head and leant back.

"Healing you has been… difficult," he said, not looking at Dean. "Normally you don't resist me when I try to help. But you were fighting so hard to die, I wasn't sure I could-" he broke off, swallowing the rest of his words. "I'm glad you're alive," he said finally. Squeezing Dean's hand, which hadn't left his wrist, before carefully extracting it and placing it back onto the bed. The angel stood and began to walk towards the door, purpose in his stride.

"Where are you going?" Dean called, weakly. Cas hesitated and looked back at him, Dean felt like he was being X-Rayed.

"You seem well and willing enough to make it through the next few hours at least." He said, "I need to talk to the siren, find out exactly what happened."

"Wait!" Dean said, flinging back the covers and hissing at the sudden cold.

"Dean," Cas said, exhasperated, stepping back towards him, "stay here, you need to rest."

"I need to see it, Cas." Dean pleaded, "I _need_ to make sure it wasn't who I thought it was."

Cas rolled his eyes but complied, grumbling as he reached to take Dean's arm and help him to his feet.

It was slow going. Dean had to pause every few steps to catch his breath. Cas kept a constant, small trail of healing energy flowing through him but even so, walking was not easy.

Dean leaned on the wall while Cas opened the door to the dungeon and placed a chair inside for Dean before manoeuvring him into it.

Dean heard the wet laughter before he looked into the siren's face. It was no longer Castiel, not quite, one side of it's face was horribly scarred with raw burns and there were now some subtle differences. The skin was too dark, the shade of the eyes was wrong, the shape of the jaw, there was no longer a feeling of comfort and power emanating from it and the hair was light brown. And it was laughing a throaty, guttural laugh that seemed to come from every fibre of its being.

"So you're still alive," it said mockingly, it's eyes shining with delight, "barely. A shame. But still, so worth my time."

"Let's see if you still think that when we're done with you," Dean growled. The creature grinned widely.

"I'm terrified," it said, "honestly quaking in my boots. This story is going to be _legendary_ , you realise? Dean Winchester, fooled to the point of suicide. I barely had to inject you, you did it all by yourself."

"You won't be telling any stories," Cas said, striding forward menacingly. "You won't be leaving this room."

The siren leaned back, the chains securing it clinking. "I took breaks, you know. Told my story while it was happening. All my buddies know, and the tale will spread whether I'm there to help it along or not. It was a powerful illusion, the _most_ powerful illusion I've ever done. You should be flattered at how much work I put into it. I scouted around here for _days_ to get glimpses into your mind and your brother's. It had to be _exact_. The incorporeal thing wasn't easy to maintain either. There was just so much _detail_." It shot a wild grin at the hunter. "Oh, the things you noticed about him, Dean. You were such a helpful resource."

Dean's fists clenched. But he did nothing more than lean forward, staring into it's eyes.

"Why?"

The siren looked surprised at the question.

"Why? Why did I do it? You know your reputation among my kind. I've been waiting for an opportunity to get one of you on your own for _years_. I'd check back in every so often, but you were always together, with your brother and your angel," it spat the last word, glaring up at Cas. "Who has incredibly bad timing, I might add."

"Not _that_. You wanted to screw with me, I get _that_. But why _him_?" He ignored the look that Cas shot him, keeping his eyes on the siren. Those eyes were filled with a mixture of amusement and malice.

"It's what you wanted, Dean. It's what you wanted more than _anything_."

"Right. I _wanted_ my friend to be a ghost. I _wanted_ him to be in Hell for angels. That makes no sense, man."

"Oh, no, no, no, no! Dean. Come on. I thought you were smarter than that. That's the _obvious_. What did I give you? Really?"

Dean shook his head. Wracking his brain for the answer and came back with nothing. The siren seemed to enjoy the expressions on his face.

"Dean, Dean, Dean. I gave you the opportunity to _save_ him. At the expense of your own life of course, but since when has _that_ meant anything to you, am I right?" It giggled. "But that part wasn't just for me either. Everything I said and did and _implied_ came from you. You wouldn't have believed there to be an easy way out. You wouldn't have been satisfied unless you gave _everything_. I might have supplied some of the… footnotes, but the script was all you."

Dean glanced at Cas then. The angel's brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched like he wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about, but he knew he wouldn't like it.

"Enough of this." He said, stepping forward and placing his hand on the siren's forehead. There was a small burst of light in Cas' eyes and the siren let out a scream, long and high. It lasted for several seconds before Cas let go, reeling backwards, eyes wide. He visibly composed himself in seconds, adopting a neutral expression when the siren groaned and came to.

"Well," the angel said. "You certainly were… thorough."

The siren laughed again, though it was more pained this time, less cocky.

"Like I said, he was such a useful resource. Really helped me with my acting. Do you know how rare it is that we take the form of _real_ people? Normally we're a mash up of celebrity bits and fetish memories so it's much easier. But this? Oh, boy. I _was_ you."

"And now you're not. I knew you felt different. I saw your true form, yes, but that's no longer there. You're human now, aren't you?"

The siren pressed it's lips together.

"The one tragedy of this wonderful rom com," it said reluctantly.

"What?" Dean said, "human? How?"

"It doesn't matter," Cas said quickly, then, turning back to the human-siren. "We're done here. I'll dispose of you later."

Cas walked over to Dean and hauled him to his feet.

"Why?" the former siren called from behind them, "he already knows. He just won't admit it, not even to himself. And if that doesn't just tear you up. I saw you, before I became this. I _felt_ you. It's not exactly a one-way street, is it?"

"What's it talking about?"

"Come on, Dean."

"Look to your lore, Dean Winchester!" Cackled the siren, "what makes my kind lose their form? Why do you think we _never_ show our toys familiar faces?"

The heavy iron door closed off anything else the newly made human might say. Cas tugged him along in silence and Dean let him, his mind was swimming and walking was still difficult. Cas got him back into his bed and pulled the covers over him, smoothing out the creases and fluffing his pillow when Dean insisted on sitting upright. He felt instantly better when Cas healed him again, his fatigue gone. Cas looked pleased at this development.

"The siren's venom lingers," he said, pressing two fingers to Dean's forehead to 'scan' him. "But I think that was the last of it. It should be easier to heal you now. Though still not instant. I… I don't quite have my full strength back."

"How come?" Dean asked, that explained the angel's apparent tiredness.

"I think the entity that expelled me was unwilling to let me go without some kind of punishment. I can feel my power returning, but slowly."

"So what was that thing talking about?"

Cas pulled his hand back and straightened up.

"I should go and make you some food. Your body needs help healing on its own."

"Cas,"

"Dean," the angel was exasperated. "This isn't the time to talk about this. Not long ago you were delirious and very sick. Now is not the time to add stress."

"With a conversation? Don't you think having these questions is more stressful than knowing the answers?"

Cas smiled down at him like he was a child, employing childish logic.

"No, I don't."

Dean pouted, yes, he actually _pouted_. He couldn't be truly angry considering everything the angel had done for him, but he had to _show_ he was frustrated. "Why not?"

"Because, you're not ready yet. And just because the siren's poison is gone doesn't mean its effects won't linger. It planted a lot of things in your head, Dean. Nudging you along the course it wanted you to take. Those ideas will take a longer to fade. I can't fix that for you."

The angel turned to leave but Dean grabbed onto his sleeve, almost desperately.

"What did you see?"

"I saw its memories, all the ones pertaining to us anyway." Cas said, face impassive, "I'll be back in a few minutes, we can talk more once you've ingested something. I do remember how to make a sandwich, you know." He gently pried Dean's fingers from his sleeve and left. Dean considered following but decided that the bed was more comfortable than the floor would be when he fell, and anyway, a sandwich _did_ sound good. He hadn't eaten much when the siren was around and if Cas was right, he hadn't been in a state to eat anything for three days.

Dean's mind turned over and over the conversation with the siren… human… thing. _Look to your lore_. He hadn't dealt with a siren in years. Although he knew their true form could be seen by mirrors. He remembered suddenly the way that it had tiptoed around the shards of broken mirror in Cas' room. He knew that sirens were assholes by nature, using a person's brain like a buffet of ways to screw with them. They usually tried to lure their victims to hurt their loved ones, then leave them to deal with whatever they'd done on their own. Best way to deal with them was a bronze dagger coated with the blood of a victim or a good old-fashioned bludgeoning. Turning them human? He didn't remember anything about that. He just remembered it hadn't been an option last time and had always had a 'kill first, ask questions later' kind of attitude when it came to monsters.

Cas returned and handed him a plate and a glass of water. Dean took a bite of the food. The sandwich was a little heavy on the mayo but was otherwise pretty good; ham, tomatoes, some leafy things that Sam always insisted on buying even though they wilted after like ten minutes of being exposed to air. Cas didn't say a word while Dean ate, he just watched silently, sat on the end of the bed, chuckling when some of the tomato juice ran down his chin. Normally, Dean got uncomfortable when Cas stared at him for a prolonged period of time but he didn't mind so much at the moment. He felt safe, home in a way that the bunker hadn't really been since Cas hadn't come back with them from the cabin. There had been something missing that Jack couldn't replace, not that Dean had wanted him to, that had been Sam's gig.

Once Dean was finished, he wiped his mouth. The food had definitely helped, everything was a bit clearer now. He put the plate down deliberately and Cas shifted, sensing that another conversation was imminent.

"So, you saw into the siren's mind, huh?" Dean said.

"Yes."

"See anything interesting?"

"Well, it wasn't lying when it said it had been watching us for years. Each time it came back it would look into our minds. It couldn't get much from me, I'm naturally warded against things like that, but you and Sam are both very observant so when the opportunity came… it was able to form a complete image of me and feed you the story it wanted."

"The story _I_ wanted, you mean?"

Cas raised an eyebrow. Something threatening to bubble underneath the stony surface.

"If you want to phrase it that way, I suppose so. You cannot deny you have a… self-destructive streak. When it comes to a trade you would much rather give your own life than lose anyone close to you. It's a flaw of yours." His lips twitched.

"A flaw, huh?"

"One of your best and worst traits, I would say." Cas said, nodding. "It's what makes you so frustrating, but also what makes you such a good person."

"And you saw all of that in the siren's head?"

Cas let out a small chuckle. "Dean, please. I know you."

"When you were looking through its memories..." Dean said in a smaller voice, avoiding Cas' eyes, "did you see what it saw when it looked into _my_ head?"

There was a short pause.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And? You want me to tell you your own thoughts? It used your memories to speak the way you expected me to speak and to act how you thought I would act. It's what made the lie so believable. I- I'm sorry I hit you earlier, there's no way you could really have known."

"I've known you for a long time. You'd think I'd have noticed something was wrong."

"But nothing _was_ wrong, Dean. I have to say it was almost perfect. At times it said almost exactly what I _would_ have said and acted very similarly to how I _would_ have acted, precisely because you know me so well. By the time it started to break away from the true me, you had been injected with its poison and so were more amenable to believing it. It was very subtly done. I could almost say clever."

"Right." Dean wasn't convinced, he should have been able to tell the difference. He prided himself on _knowing_ the people he cared about precisely so that things like this wouldn't happen.

"Dean."

Dean still didn't look up so Cas took hold of his chin and raised it gently.

"I was never in a place like it described. It isn't like that when angels and demons die. We just sleep, it's not unpleasant. I need you to know that, okay?"

A weight Dean didn't know that he was carrying lifted off his shoulders. He nodded, and Cas removed his hand.

"If it helps, I tried not to look too hard when it was searching your mind. I knew you wouldn't appreciate the intrusion."

Dean shrugged. "Whatever, it's done." Then he paused. "You – it – said that you sometimes watch over me when I sleep. It seemed like a weird detail to add, something that I couldn't have known."

Cas smiled. "A little bit of truth always makes the lie easier to digest," he said, "I don't do it often. I do respect your privacy, Dean. But yes, it was correct in what it said. Like I said, it couldn't get much from me, only whatever was at the forefront, the strongest of my thoughts, memories and feelings. It heard me think it one time, when I noticed you hadn't been sleeping well. You do seem to sleep better when I watch you. I think you push your body too hard and are constantly trying to wake up to find the danger. An angelic presence can help soften that, I've found."

"I very much doubt that Zachariah would have had the same effect." Dean said, uncomfortably. Cas laughed.

"Me too."

"And what about… the other stuff? When I was worried and sorry that I couldn't help, when you – it – showed up in the library, looking all kinds of bad. Did you see that too?"

"Yes." Cas' voice was very soft.

"And?"

Cas sighed, " _and_ , none of it changes my opinion of you. Like I said, the siren put all kinds of ideas into your brain, a lot of those things its poison helped to exaggerate. Now that it's out of your system it will take a few days for everything to fall back into how it was before."

"And you think I'm not ready."

"Give it a few days and everything should-"

"What if I just want to hear you say it?"

The words left a ringing silence in their wake. Dean pulled at the duvet, unable to look at the angel who seemed to be carefully considering what he had just said.

"Do you?" He asked, quietly.

"I think I figured out why the siren is human." He said, heart thudding unnaturally loud, "I think I remember that piece of lore."

"If a person truly falls in love with a siren, they become human."

"But it doesn't look like you anymore because it _wasn't_ you, not really, just an imitation. It's not-" he stopped talking, he couldn't say it. Even now, the words wouldn't come. He cursed himself for his cowardice.

"I love you."

Dean's eyes shot up to meet Cas'. The blue bored into him, raw with honesty. He _felt_ the truth of the words as they were given voice. And it felt like life itself.

"You-?" was all Dean managed to get out in response.

"I love you. Not as my family or as my friend, although I value both of those things greatly, but I love you in your own right. I love your strength and your determination, I love your willingness to throw yourself in the way of danger, I love that your first instinct is to protect your brother and I love how you always find a way to laugh, even when you're hurting. I love how deeply you feel and how much you care. I am in love with everything about you, Dean Winchester."

Dean just gaped at him. He didn't have any other reaction. Cas smiled, his eyes growing resolute.

"However, my love is separate from you. It is not something that I will allow to get in the way of the friendship we have spent so long building. It will not affect my life as a Hunter or my duty to you and Sam. If you wish, I will never speak of it again. My love is _not_ another thing for you to feel guilty about, and if I have to erase this memory in order for that to be the case, I will do it. Do you understand?"

Dean nodded, then, bemused, shook his head.

"Close enough," said Cas. Then, he stood, he looked a lot more at ease than he had just a few moments ago, some of the tension had gone from his shoulders. "The thoughts that the siren planted, they may have been seeded in truth, but they might not be what you believe them to be at the moment. It is not for me to tell you how you feel, Dean. And especially how you feel about me. I think it would be best if we did not broach this subject again until you are more comfortable, and more certain. I will take your lead on that." He smiled again and walked to the door, he had just reached it when Dean grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around and pressed his lips against his. The duvet had tangled around his foot in his haste to stand and the room was spinning, though he wasn't sure that was _all_ from getting out of bed too quickly. Cas' arms encircled him, strengthening him, holding him up. The kiss was hot and fast, their breath mingled and their tongues met. In a word, it was perfect.

Cas was the one who broke the kiss in the end, he felt Dean's legs begin to shake and gently guided him back to bed, giving him another burst of healing. It seemed to be more effective than his previous attempts had and Dean felt almost back to himself. Grinning like and idiot, he grabbed on to Cas' lapel when he tried to straighten. The look in the angel's eyes put the sun to shadow.

"I know." Dean said, as Cas arranged the covers over him. "I've known for a long time, years. Since Purgatory I think, or probably before. I'm sorry, I never said-"

"You told me in other ways, as I told you. The words matter less than their meaning. But I still advise you to wait until we can be sure the siren's influence is gone. It could be… difficult otherwise."

"Screw that," Dean said vehemently, "I know how I feel about you, Cas. I _know._ Sometimes, it's the _only_ thing I know."

Cas opened his mouth to reply but suddenly there were loud footsteps in the hallway, and shouting,

"Dean!" A panicky voice cried out, "Dean!"

"In here, Sammy." Dean called. The door burst open and all 6ft 4 of Sam came crashing in, followed by a rather perturbed looking Jack.

"Dean!" Sam said, launching himself across the room towards his brother, he checked for wounds then looked up at Cas.

"Someone please explain to me what the _hell_ is going on! I've been driving non-stop for the past two days straight with a dead werewolf in the trunk of the car and some… crazy message from my brother and suddenly Cas isn't dead anymore and _calls_ me and seemed to think that would make me _less_ worried!?"

Dean and Cas exchanged a look, grinning.

"I should leave you two to talk," Cas said, dropping a quick kiss onto Dean's forehead on the way out. Sam made a noise like a strangled ostrich while Dean felt a blush creep up his neck. Cas went over to Jack and guided him out, clearly for a 'talk' of their own.

Sam didn't look particularly capable of any more words, in fact, he looked as though he might have an aneurism.

"In my defence," Dean began, reaching under his bed for a beer and passing it to his brother, "you left me unsupervised."

 **So there you go, the fic is finished. I would love to know your opinions if you care to share them.**

 **All feedback is welcome and appreciated.**

 **Love Tibbins xx**


End file.
